Bittersweet
by valenelle
Summary: After POTC 5, Jack's heading crosses with a certain someone's.


**A/N: Late at night like this... I got into a Jackelica mood and just wrote this in a sweep. Hope you like this short one-shot. **

**Summary: After POTC 5, Jack's heading crosses with a certain someone's. **

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated to POTC.

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**Bittersweet**

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Probably bound to happen one time, it somehow still rips her ground away as it does.

"The Black Pearl."

Words are barely uttered nor taken in for her as she disregards them at once. Of course not. Such an infamous ship sunk decades ago, and she even witnessed it. Safe in a bottle somewhere, probably at the bottom of the sea as well. A tale like that would never sail again, and in a sense, it makes her happy. The miserable sensation it must cause her forever enemy.

But when another crewmember joins, "It is!" She must bitterly roll her eyes, fist clinchingly resting at her hip as she leans sideways against the pillar.

"Nonsense," she is sure.

And with a stern gesture, expression reveals her saying. Crewmembers that at once move along to continue the course. Not many spoke of the legendary ship nowadays. Yet whenever mentioned, she would feel her heart skip a beat. Just for a second. For this moment she would remember and tight her grip around anything a little harder than otherwise. For a person being a talent in acting, she easily brushed such emotions away, even in the presence of someone who knew her.

"Mom, I think it is."

Any voice would slip her by but this one. The young grown man, the captain.

When lowering the binocular he turns to meet her gaze for the briefest moment. Together they turn the vision to the horizon and the black spot in the middle.

"Can it be?" he goes on searchingly. "I thought it be only a legend."

Softly she aims to grab the binocular from his hands.

"Is it true it is the fastest ship?" he continues.

Letting the circular vision damp upon her, the black sailing wonder gets into image and her breath must hitch. In denial she brings the item down and refuses to watch across the sea. It simply cannot be.

How?

When?

And most of all - why?

"Depends on who sails it," she answers.

"Can we outsail it?"

It is the truth. "You can," she speaks before changing her mind somewhat. "But not if..," her words die as she looks back to the now bigger spot. She takes a deep breath to finish, knowing she has no power to stop this anyway. "Which it is."

For a short moment he studies the ghostly ship too. More of a gentleman and protector of his mother than any, he is quickly off helping the crew to prepare. A fast ship they surely have, but more than anything a strong crew. A crew that won every fight and conquered any fleet they met. Intelligent and quick thinking strategies with treasures to bathe in.

Two decades and she is over it. Over him. She has other things to focus on. Important things. She has moved on. She has.

But her eyes bite on the approaching ship like a magnet. As if there is nothing else in the world to see.

"Mother, you need your sword!" her son pushes and forces her out of her frozen posture. He must see her pale face as he slowly leans down and moves his hand to her face, rather lovingly. "Are you alright?"

Nervously she lets out the breath she has held in, stuttering on a word and tries to a bit tremblingly smile reassuringly.

But she is not. Not even when he gently out of worry, forces her into his quarters. The captain's quarters. And she will be forced to witness it from a window. And with a heart that might as well pop out of her chest.

However she knew, or feared, that this eventually at last would occur.

And while it is true she anxiously eyes it all from the window, she knows her son. His mastery, his talent that has grown within this young and strong grown up, does keep her nerves somehow more at peace. He can handle it. He will handle it.

And she will be kept in the shadows. But can she handle it?

She had thought she would. As she is over this, since a long time ago. Forgotten thoughts and this idea of having this image in her head had since years been piled at the back of her memory. Like a fine dream that never would come true. She did not want it come true. She wanted it dusty in the back of her mind. A fine thought she would bring out whenever she had hours at night with trouble to fall asleep. But never a thought to ever disturb her again.

Yet here she is.

Again.

For some, reasonable, reason, she believed it would be easy. Because she had not been exposed to this before. Not for many years. And it makes one forget. Forget all about the racing heart, the happiness, the heartache. The sensation it awakes.

And she sees him enter her frames once again. After all these years. And she realizes… nothing has changed. Nothing ever changed. It is just like it all happened yesterday.

The pride of being over him, the pride of moving on. The pride of never looking back. All gone. As if someone ripped the carpet away from her ground. Letting her fall harshly right back to where she begun. To approach the worst part, she barely recognizes if she understands it as hatred or love.

Does she hate him? Or is she still in love with him?

Never having time nor faith on her side, his approaching figure must drive her to hide behind the heavy and thick curtains by the window. Smooth as as cat she can fit with them as cover, feeling his presence alive when shoving the door open.

If her breath would not reveal her, then so may her pondering heart. The sight of him is almost unbearable.

Her gaze is dizzy and so is her mind. It troubles her to breath and her knees feel weak. And at the same time she cannot control her forceful eye to keep peaking at his back against her.

His sword is drawn and he is looking around, searching until he freezes upon an item. A gun laying on a table. He lifts it and quickly looks over his shoulder, barely managing to see her hiding behind there. Perhaps he even did.

Her son has stormed inside, discreetly with a traveling gaze for her. His sword points to the man his senior, that holds a steady grip around the pistol.

"Where did you get this?" he must ask, no sword drawn now.

The young man eyes the pistol and takes a threateningly step forward, sword pointing challengingly to the elder intruder. "It isn't mine."

"I know that," the man retorts. "I gave it to a woman, aye." Then he lowers the item and eyes the lad. He looks to a painting on the wall, a name written on a wooden frame. "And ye be..," he reads. "Edward Jr."

Edward Jr. Is not pleased at all. "_Captain_," he corrects. "Captain, Edward Jr."

The man examines any spot of the young one. "What are ye - a framing replica?" he accuses, regarding the similarities them between.

And for the young man himself, the elder certainly does remind him of the wanted posters.

"You must be Jack Sparrow."

"_Captain_," Jack corrects. "Captain, Jack Sparrow."

Cockily, Edward Jr. raises his sword higher. "Not for long."

And that would be it for Jack. Two captains in a fight. One elder and the other younger. Two strangers.

A bloody battle outside, which is even worse between the duo. They leave the quarters, move on deck, behind the helm, everywhere. Strength is met by both with equal push, equal maneuvers and equal ideas. Nothing goes to victory until the younger has him at checkmate.

With any crewmember stopping the fight, Jack at surprise, in pure shock in fact. He is about to utter, how it is impossible for the young man to do such a maneuver on him. On anybody. Nobody should have knowledge of it. As there was only one woman who knew of it.

And at once his eyes drift to the window. Swiftly she silkily has the curtain for coverage again and hides from his sight, deeply wondering if she wants him to see her or not. If she wants to refrain from such a reality by staying out of his sight, or a debate of if she wants to reenter it by challengingly step out and meet him. Face to face.

For a moment Jack pauses and looks back to Edward Jr. It is no such deal for him to break the sword away from the lad, but he does not. Instead he keeps eyeing the lad before gesturing for his crew to return to the Pearl. Gibbs with a mouth hanging agape.

"What Jack?" Then he sees Edward Jr. and his eyes almost pop. "Jack, he looks almost..," but he shuts upon Jack's disinterest in regarding the first mate. Again, his eyes drift to the window aboard the ship.

"Would ye say hello to yer mother from me."

Edward Jr. does not answer. He is rather frozen, paused actions. Surprised the captain does not even try to fight him back anymore. Surprised of what he just said. That the legendary Black Pearl just gave up. Surrendered, just like that.

And when the black vessel leaves, just as fast as it had appeared, he must frown upon the sight. An analyze of what just happened. Of what could have happened and what did not. Most of all why.

It is first when his mother slowly comes out on deck to join his side that he understands.

"Edward Jr. Teague," he speaks up. "You always said I was named after your father, Edward Teach."

She swallows and keeps looking out to the disappearing spot. "I never did, Cariño."

He turns to her, silently demanding her to explain.

"I said you were named after your grandfather," she confesses. "But never which one."

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**THE END**


End file.
